My Dreaming Broke the Ceiling

I don't know how to write this.
Normally, I'm filled with words that are just about bursting out of my chest, but sometimes emotions like this are hard to write about.

I haven't been to sleep yet, and I only just took off my jersey an hour or so before my first class. I sat up for a few hours, talking to my best friend online about what just went down. Seeing the words "not going to Nationals" in text makes it that much harder. I don't know what to say; a big part of me wants to believe that this is just a very bad dream that I have yet to wake up from.

It's not real, right?
I'll wake up soon, right?
No?
Damn.

The hard part, I think, is realizing that the next time I open my eyes in a few hours, this will all be real. I'll be in my bed, and not at that cute hotel in Howell. There are no do-overs, no replays, no just kiddings.

To be honest though, even twelve hours later, I still can't fathom what happened. I can't wrap my head around any of it, and I'm still in a state of shock -- it really just hasn't hit me yet. I've "cried" about it, but I can feel something bigger brewing inside. The culmination of months of hard work, the last few of which were fraught with this emotional tension, this overarching anxiety, these emotions spilling over the brim. The first heaves will hurt, I think. I'm not quite sure that I'm ready for it, but I'll be relieved when it happens. But for now, all I can do is think. All I can do is think about the game, and replay moments in my head over and over again. What if? What if I had been taller or faster or stronger or a better handler or more tireless? What if I could have made a difference, what if I squandered my chance? It's maddening. Goose had it dead on when he said that game was either going to be a game you'll always remember or a game you can't ever forget. I'm sad to say that it's the latter. It just doesn't seem fair.

When I was little, my mom and dad always used to tell me that if I was a good little girl and did my homework every night and ate all the food on my plate and hopped in bed by 8:30, good things would come to me. My dad used to tell me that if I went about my way and didn't bother anybody else and worked hard with my head down, good things would come to me. So that's what I did. I bought into the idea that we could be a good team, that we could make it to Nationals, that if I worked hard and gave it my all, it would all pay off. But in the end, a different team wearing a jersey different than the one I was wearing was the one rushing the field, celebrating. Isn't wanting it as badly as we wanted it enough? (I know it's not, it's a rhetorical question)

[[DISCLAIMER: What I am about to say is MY OPINION, and MY OPINION ONLY. I am not voicing my coach's opinion, nor am I voicing my team's opinion. If you have a problem with what I have to say, take it up with ME.]]

In all the years I've been a competitive athlete, I have never heard an opposing team say the things I heard Michigan State say about my team. The nature of the comments that these people allowed to leave their lips was honestly disturbing. Heckling is one thing, but malicious comments are another. I am not innocent of saying stupid shit -- I've said a lot of very regrettable things in my life. But there is a very real difference between saying that you will "pee in someone's bag" (me) and "slitting [someone's] throat" (MSU). Ticky tacky calls won't get you anywhere at Nationals, and I hope you learn that the hard way. You can call my team "bitchy" if you want to, but don't you dare question the integrity of my teammates. I know my teammates would not intentionally cheat, and the fact that you can outright call us cheaters when you're the ones making shady ass (palm tree?) calls, well I'm going to have to respectfully let you know that your opinion is a crock of shit.

That being said, I really enjoyed playing Michigan. Not only were they extremely talented, very fast, and just ridiculously baller, they were also fair and spirited, and that's how a top team should be. I only hope that we can learn from their example, and maybe bring it a little harder the next time we see them. This time around, I played awfully (and how this was unlike the first time I ever played them I'm not sure), but it was fun to play against a team like them. Congratulations on the win Flywheel, and good luck at Nationals. Do the Great Lakes proud.

;;sigh

My friend Karen told me that even though it'll still be hard on the inside, it might help make it a little easier on the outside if I think about how happy I am for the other teams that made it that wanted it and worked just as hard as I did. And I'm happy for the Illinois men and Michigan and UCLA and UCSB and Wake Forest and UNC and Wisco and Carleton and Ottawa and Maryland and UBC and Washington and Oregon and Texas, you know? I really am. (P.S. so far I only got two picks wrong) But the fact that "Illinois women" isn't on that list too? It still makes me feel raw inside.

(I have my iPod on shuffle, and this song came on, and I just lost it, a little bit, and I don't even like Matchbox 20.)

To take it all the way back to when I was a senior in high school (just got my braces off, 'Let's drink Natty Lite at Orr's apartment like we're cool'-lookin' ass), this reminds me a little bit of the college application process. (Bear with me here.) When I got rejected from Pomona College, I was a little devastated. Never mind the fact that many of my smartest friends didn't get in, or that I had gotten into a lot of other really good schools, not getting into my top choice hurt a lot. I lamented about my seven wasted years of private school, my six wasted years at Whitney Young, all the money I wasted on prep books and practice tests. In the end, I chose to attend Illinois, and even though it took me a while to warm up to it, I am now very, very happy with my choice, and if I had to do it all over again I wouldn't change a thing. After a long dark period, I know now that all the work I put in wasn't wasted. On that same token, all those hours at the gym, on the track, on the field? All the sweat, the snow, the grass stains? The aches, the pains, the bruises? None of that was wasted. Yeah, we didn't make it to Nationals, which is what we wanted all year long, but don't think of it as wasted, at all. I know that I wouldn't trade any second of it.

I'm not saying it won't feel like shit at first. It might even feel this way for a long time. But as much as this sucks to say, this is something else to fuel our fire, something else for us to learn from. April 27, 2008 ... let that get you ready for next year. Next game-to-go, or next backdoor final. The faces of those Michigan State girls as they rushed the field. Their conversation about matching shorts and fundraisers for Nationals. You never "deserve" anything, and you are never "given" anything in life. Two years in a row we lost it when we could almost taste it in our mouths. The best we can do is take notes, learn from this the hard way, and come back next spring, harder than ever. Isn't it true that Chris Paul (New Orleans Hornets) wears #3 to remind him of the three teams that passed up on him in the draft? He was chosen Rookie of the Year that year.

If anybody out there thinks this is Illinois licking its wounds, and if you think we won't come back as hard next year, you're wrong. That that doesn't kill me can only make me stronger. We're going to come back harder, better, faster, stronger (z0mg Daft Punk roflz!1!) next year. We'll be older and pissed off. We might even have tattoos on the left side of our faces, and we might all have broken backs, so we'll only be able to train two or three weeks for Regionals. We won't even know how we'll be standing by then, but praise be to Allah! Amen! What?! Get ready ... we're coming for ya ...

OHHHHH Mike Tyson. So fucking crazy.

;;sigh

My futile attempts at humor don't really cheer me up all that much, actually, so I'll stop.

More than anything, I just want to bury myself somewhere and cry. Like, body-rocking, earth-shattering, pillow-soaking sobs, not those pussy-shit tears running down my cheeks at the fields and in the car. I just want this all to come out, because it hurts so, so, so much. I've never wanted anything this badly, especially for my teammates, and now this is unlike any other pain I've felt. I've had my heart broken before. I've been dealt shitty hands. But this is completely different, you know? And it fucking hurts.

I know all that positive-focus, optimism shit people like to try to comfort me with. "Hey, at least you made it that far!" or, "You still have two years." While I appreciate it, it's really not the point. I wanted to do it with this team. I wanted to go with Meg and Catherine and Ashley, and I didn't want their careers in an Illinois uniform to end this way. Nobody did. And it sucks and it hurts and there's no way we could take it back; believe me, I feel like I'm not alone when I say that I would give an ear or an off-hand or a leg to help them close out their Illinois chapters at Nationals.

There's nothing I can say to ease the pain -- there are no words I can conjure up, no ready-made all-consoling phrase I can repeat over and over to make it all go away. I would do anything to know and to say those words. If I could, I would find a way to seep into your bloodstream and make whatever it is that makes you sad go away. But I can't do those things. For now, my arms and my heart are all I have, and if you need me to, I will open them wide for you. It probably doesn't mean much now, but I love you ten packs. I mean it.